


Envoi

by Tevildo



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Age, M/M, Pre-First Age, Rather Eldritch Valar, Ridiculously Convoluted Prose, Second Age, Shapeshifting, Technically No Major Character Death, Warning: Action Violence, Warning: Reported Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-09
Updated: 2009-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:04:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tevildo/pseuds/Tevildo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After winning the War of Wrath, Eönwë encounters someone from his past. But no victory against Melkor is complete, unless at the End; and not in every case is there a rift in the armour of Fate.  Originally written before we found out that Sauron's "real" name was Mairon. Written for Amber in the 2009 Ardor in August exchange. Nominated by Mirach for the 2011 MEFAs.</p><p><img/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my lovely beta-reader Jaiden, without whom this story would have been entirely unreadable. Thank you also to my alpha-reader rxlcrab, for bearing with my wailing and gnashing of teeth.
> 
> I'm very excited to thank Mirach for drawing the Eönwë from this story, and for nominating it for the 2011 MEFAs. You may see her lovely art [here](http://mirachravaia.deviantart.com/art/Eonwe-160240219).
> 
> I'm grateful to Araiona_Dubois for reccing the story [here](http://z7.invisionfree.com/Sue_Free_Zone/index.php?s=07774fa741d7415dc1dafba7b40dd43a&showtopic=12&view=findpost&p=286622).

Now Eönwë, Captain of the Host of the Valar, drew nigh his tent, set at the heart of the great encampment that was laid in the drear North at the change of the world. Passing amid the lamplit press, there rose about him the mist of lamentation, weeping those new-slain of kindred by kindred, at a time when all death and slaying were done. Eönwë joined them not. On this night he was weary of deeds and war and of the corruption of this earth. In victory he tasted the ashes of doubt.

He had bade his company put up their swords, and had himself walked with the remaining sons of Fëanor until they were far from his host. There were they overcome with torment, even as he had foretold to them but a little while ago. Suffering neither bondage nor further slaying, he had seen them safely from the camp, and let them be. For this there were some among his host who eyed him askance, and he heard an accusation in the fair voices uplifted in song, but it had seemed to him that in such a chance all choices led to ill.

Now for any who wished to see, two points of unsullied light faded from the darkling distance, one mingled with the fires that sprang out of the nether forges, and the other seized by the hungry grasp of the deep, that with every billow devoured the western lands. One more had died needlessly from Eönwë's command, and the last Light of the blessed Trees was lost, never to be retrieved ere the End.

Turning to the vaulted sky in supplication, where even the Northern stars were veiled in shadow, Eönwë knew the loneliness of failure and its regret. His thoughts leapt homeward then, where once, in command of this victorious host cast shipless upon shifting strands, he had longed to return to rest. Now no rest awaited, for soon he must report his conduct before the Valar. Into his tent he returned alone, to the cold victory of a bitter war.

But it was not so. For when he lifted the tent flap, one stood within to greet him. He was clad in fair form, that raiment in which he walked with Eönwë upon Arda in long ages past, fashioning the substances of the deep-rooted earth. Sauron, lieutenant of the Enemy and his greatest and most trusted servant, revealed his presence before Eönwë, and cast himself at his feet.

Eönwë said, "What trickery is this, you vassal of Melkor? You will not find your master here." But even as he spoke he entered the tent, and shut its walls without calling a guard.

"I pray you, Eönwë," said Sauron, drawing near, "hold blameless the servant for the ills of his master. Few in Arda have strength of will such as yours, and if I have broken upon the bonds that Melkor laid about me, then may I receive your pity before your anger.

"In humility and repentance I come to you, and in gratitude. Yes, for by your great victory you have released me from darkness and the fear of darkness. Will you not forgive me?"

Eönwë hardened his heart against him, and answered, "So you come at last. You fly to me even as a moth to the flame."

He looked upon Sauron, casting his thought through the long ages of his works: the singing and the making, and the ordering of lands when the First War was won. Through all were Eönwë's vigour and agency foremost in Sauron's thought. But at the resting time, when all watched Aulë's Lamps bring forth the Spring, a cloud fell over Sauron's mind, and he revealed no more.

Marking what he sought, Eönwë issued his gaze to pierce bitter as the wind upon the pinnacle of Taniquetil and more profound than the secret gulfs beneath the deep. Thus was Sauron laid bare, and, naked and trembling, he cried out his shame and fear.

Eönwë surveyed all that was revealed. He saw a darkness of treachery and malice that entwined with light and desire for light; but shame whelmed all, and terror was its brother. Melkor did Sauron fear, but the more he feared the Valar. From the dim fastness of Taur-nu-fuin, he had beheld the might and magnificence of Eönwë's host, there he had hid as they broke all Beleriand in their fury, and there had he descried them bring forth in bonds his erstwhile master, footless and bent, who oft had recounted to him the pitiless judgements of the Lords sitting upon their thrones far in the Uttermost West.

Then Eönwë thought to himself, "Am I, too, not beset by the anguish of regret? And do I not also dread judgement for my conduct of this war upon my return? Yes, I have lost the last unsullied Light, and Elves were slain, needlessly, it may be claimed. Yet Sauron has come to me in despite of all, and he has yielded unto me the gates of his mind."

Pity sprouted in Eönwë's heart, seeded by that withered shadow and trace of him whom he once had loved before the world was made. Though Eönwë rued always the fencing of Valinor against the entreaties of the Children of Ilúvatar, he turned now his thought to those others, Melkor's servants, whose lot seemed the direst and most terrible, for their very spirits were defiled and changed. Of all the bitter hurts that Melkor had wrought upon Arda, this marring seemed now the most grievous. In his pity it came to Eönwë that he should seek to thwart Melkor's mastery in all things; he desired to defeat him, if he might, within the spirit of his servant even as he had defeated him on the field.

For the first time since alighting upon Middle-earth, Eönwë cast off earthly raiment, so that the twain were revealed in the fullness of their splendour, undimmed by the veil of incarnate form: the one keen as the wind that scours the barren tors, and the other a living shadow of fire. Thus Sauron rendered himself to Eönwë's glory, and received him, and wheresoever Eönwë touched burned with a clear flame that neither scorched nor marred. Sauron craved it, its pain and its releasing, and his thought was fell and strange. It seemed for a time that darkness was upswept into the airs to become a mingling of the substances of Arda, arising as the windstorm that reveals of weathered rock the fine tracery of its bones.

Rekindled within Sauron was the glede of the Flame Imperishable, that had but slept through his fall in Melkor's service. He looked upon the world in amazement as a new thing, marvellous-wrought and strange in its beauty, but to him the more perilous, for he understood a little more clearly the full measure of his past misdeeds.

All this did Eönwë perceive, the wonder no less than the fear. As the domed panoply that mantles all pale and blinking things of the earth from Arien's blazing gaze he arrayed himself about Sauron, saying, "Receive now my forgiveness, but not my pardon, for no authority have I to give it. Yet, if you will, return with me to Aman, and there render yourself unto the mercy of the Elder King."

Then Sauron knew that Eönwë would not shield him forever, and despair woke anew in his heart. He sundered himself from Eönwë, saying, "There is no mercy for me in the West, however I beseech the Powers and fawn grovelling at their feet; for I have shown no mercy to any, and so deserve none for myself." Even as he spoke, there rose before his sight a tower of sable adamant set nigh unto a fiery mountain. In foreboding he said, "Is it your desire that I should return with you beyond the Western Sea? But I say to you, Eönwë, that when you come no more to these Hither Lands, my doom shall fall upon me at last." And then the vision passed, and all was clouded.

"I see within you not doom but pride that cleaves you to this shore," answered Eönwë. "Lay down your pride, and submit to the Elder King's judgement, that you might redress the wrongs you have compassed and have your spirit healed."

Sauron answered him in fearful scorn, "I need no King's judgement to judge what wrongs I must redress! Think you that healing will be the doom laid unto me? Look upon Melkor! No, they shall fetter me for long ages in narrow thraldom, maybe, until all is dark before my sight and once again Melkor casts his dominion upon my thought. Or worse, they shall cast me into the Void, where ever shall I be laid bare to the torment of his gaze. Small healing will I receive if I submit to such!

"But you, Eönwë, out of the West have you come to Middle-earth in its need, while all the Powers sit idle upon their thrones, heedless of the wide expanses of Arda that lay for long Ages succourless. You have driven him forth who was King of this Middle-earth, and you are now greatest in might in all Arda, and all the hosts of the world answer to your command. Middle-earth is your own. Will he who is mightiest be content now to creep back to his coop at the beck of some self-clept King? What King is he who holds no dominion? Who guides not his people, yet pronounces high judgement upon those deceived and betrayed? No, I will forgo his tyranny.

"But you Eönwë, to you I will submit, if you bid me."

Amid this converse many moons waxed and waned, until three years of the swift sun were passed. Círdan grew restive, for the fingers of the sea crept up the sheer-cloven precipices that sundered the slopes of Ered Luin, so that with each tide the shipyards were flooded, though thrice they had removed to higher ground. Ingwion and Finarfin took upon themselves to seek counsel from the captain, but his tent was bound about by enchantment, so that none could open its walls.

Ingwion pointed westward, and said, "This land is sinking fast, as the sea pours in between the mountain cleft, but there is a great isle clothed in strong stands of pine, and not since the first cataclysm has the sea upclimbed its slopes. There, maybe, shall be a fair place to build our ships."

"That land is evil," answered Círdan. "We named it Taur-nu-fuin before the North was changed. Strange powers and deep arts uphold it above the faces of the Sea."

Then Finarfin besought certain Maiar of the host for aid. On a bright noontide one took an eagle's hue, and the wind of his wings swept aside the white walls of the tent, so that Eönwë and Sauron were revealed within. Waking to the world anew, the lands seemed to them swiftly changed. Freed from the trammels of earthly raiment, the weariness of corruption was stayed, so that it seemed that time, as is known in Hither Lands, was stilled, while the space of three years of the sun was passed, and a great fleet amassed in the firth.

To Ingwion, Sauron recounted the slow devisings that he had worked upon Taur-nu-fuin, so that its stone stood firm against any torrent. In ordered rows he made the trees to grow thick and strong, sheltering the earthen slopes from the ravages of rain. For he it was who had guarded the heights from all, in those years when he hid from Melkor's wrath after the yielding of Tol Sirion.

Eönwë's gaze darted from the isle to Círdan's ships that, borne upon the rising tide, rode but a little distant from his encampment. Though the fleet was seeming great, his camp was increased now a dozenfold by the Children fleeing from their sunken lands, so that glutting the wide ways between bannered tents, brakes of motley sailcloths burgeoned as bright blossoms of weeds that choke the shrinking courses when mountain snows are fled. He said, "The manner of the change of Beleriand is unknown to me, as to you, until its fulfilment. But this I say: we depart in two companies. Upon the ships that lie now at anchor shall the host of the Valar sail first with our captive, and then shall some return the fleet unto these shores, that the remnant of the Elves of Beleriand shall follow, even as they will. We go at once."

Of the new-built fleet, the first to be launched and the fairest was a swan-ship, white-sailed and pennoned in white, upon which his guards brought Melkor chained. But behind the bulwark of a grey precipice, Eönwë stood a long time with one unseen, speaking together with the light of their eyes, so that though the clamorous affairs of haven and fleet bustled about them, to none was the matter of their discourse revealed.

"Though you esteem it not," said Sauron, "I will submit to you, for I trust to your pity. And more, I will pledge to you that I should mend those hurts that I have wrought aforetime, and in all things I will serve you faithfully, in the reordering of the world."

"Is such then your desire?" asked Eönwë, gazing beyond the ships unto the gloaming shadow of Tol Fuin that darkened the unending distance. "That you should render all things according to your will?"

"Not according to my will," cried Sauron, "but Law. Then shall the world run as an instrument set within an adamant cage, a precious jewel whose gleam lights the halls of Eä. Ever onward it shall march down the long road of Time in perfect beauty and symmetry until the End. Neither waste nor dearth shall lurk therein, for to a precision shall all things be accounted. Neither war nor any strife shall assail the Kindreds, for they shall be at peace under a strong and uniting hand. Could you, Eönwë, with this your host here gathered, would you not command them?"

Eönwë turned away, saying, "You know not what you say. Even were I the most and greatest of our brethren, yet I will not snatch such power that Eru himself has waived. You know well that in each He has set the Flame Imperishable that sprang from the Secret Fire, and in each the Flame may light as it may devour. In a kingdom wrought in gears and wheels will it be smothered, that is the greatest of the gifts of Ilúvatar."

"To what good is such a flame," cried Sauron in bitterness, "that is so easily defiled and so hard to constrain, and that, once defiled, remains sullied forever?"

"Ever the good and the ill must be at once together; so do stars shine the brighter that pierce the curtain of night."

"Yet in the night of my mind few stars sail, and they are clouded."

The concourse that had gathered about the pier dispersed, and Eönwë knew that Melkor was boarded. He clad himself again in raiment as one of the Children of Ilúvatar, and once more he entreated, though with little hope, "Come with me, and forswear rebellion! Fear not, for I pledge to you that whatsoever doom you are given, I shall await you, in the end."

Seeming as a Vanya of the host, Sauron arose. He put away bitterness, saying, "Do you hold, in truth, that the ill is needful to know the good?"

"I do," said Eönwë; and he took Sauron's hand, and it trembled, "for so it is sung ere all things were made."

"Then seek me in Eastern lands. Maybe the grace is given to me, in a deep country, far from the habitation of any folk, to make good those ills that I was party to the working, and so assuage some measure of my shame."

"I shall await you in Aman, when you return."

They parted in sorrow, but not in anger. Eönwë strode to his ship, and did not look back. But when Sauron passed through the host of the Valar, amid songs of joyful farewell, his mood was grim, so that all shrank unthinking from the path of his coming. Hidden beyond the broken rocks that strewed the far-sundered cliffs, he changed into wolfish hame.

High above the first and fairest ship of the fleet that cast off from Hither Shores wheeled a far-sighted hawk, who upon the rent earth new-changed descried a lone wolf hastening into the East.


	2. Chapter 2

> This was the doom of the Valar, when Eönwë returned to Valmar and told of all the things that had been done. The Eldar they summoned to return into the West. To the Fathers of Men of the three faithful houses rich reward also was given. Eönwë came among them and taught them.

* * *

Eönwë set forth for Middle-earth, breathing once more the salt breeze that stirred his memory to long years of war. Not now did he command all the arms of the Valar, but upon an ocean that rolled ink-black about its hull his swan-ship rode out alone.

When the Enchanted Isles faded dim into the sea-mist, Eönwë went to the high prow, seeking a voice that called him in his thought. He stood listening, though the mariners heard nothing but the rush of swan's breast through foaming wave, and the flap of white sail and the pennant above as they caught the shifting airs, and beneath their feet the creak of strakes flexing to their task. Suddenly into the facing wind Eönwë upleapt, melting into the shimmer of rising sun upon the surface of the sea.

From a deep-shadowed cave that rent the white cliffs of Harlindon, a vampire darted, who for a year had awaited Eönwë's answer, venturing no further than the receding shore for fear of the lands of the West. Now high above that place where blue waters breaking gave way to green he wavered, until at length in growing desperation the shadow of his leathery wings darkened the empty waves.

Gliding swift amid the lightening sky, Eönwë descried his approach. He flung upon himself the hue of a great hawk, moved to such exaltation of the chase as he had not known since returning to Aman. In such mighty shape, he stooped upon the vampire, seizing him in damascene talons that pierced more bitter than steel. Sauron wrestled him with barb-tipped wings, but Eönwë sank his talons deep into his flesh; and striking with his beak sharp as the sickle moon, he rent Sauron's wings into black rags. In a cloud of feathers they fell out of the sky, and plunged panting into the crimsoned brine. A tumult of waters arose about them, as in a great storm of wind.

Sauron took the shape of a sea serpent, glittering as a living column of jet, and twined tight about Eönwë as they sank into the deep. In a convulsion they met the tremulous silt that lines the carven cradle of the sea. Eönwë swelled his form to lofty size, and beating his far-reaching pinions burst his coils. Forth he bore them out of the deep, wheeling northward in the bright noontide.

With a roar, the sunken lands of fair Beleriand again were broken asunder by the clash of their arms. Out of the heaving tremors Ossë arose and charged eastwards in swift onrush, towering as a bulwark ranged heaving against the bulwark of the mountains. The billow surged and broke, crashing upon shores new-made: he levelled houses, and trees were uprooted from the earth; into the retreating maw of the sea he swallowed jetties and quays; and ships foundered, and were splintered and lost.

Borne soaring over the main, unknowing of the tumults that raged beneath, the writhen worm uprose in Eönwë's grasp, girdling him in coils. He laid his bejewelled head upon Eönwë's back that shifted warm beneath him, and with forked and darting tongue he savoured Eönwë's scent that was heady with the magnificence of mastered might. After a while, he flicked his tail, ruffling with its spikes the down at Eönwë's breast, and said, "You are long in coming, sluggard of Manwë. Further West are we now than I dare venture, had my need been less."

"Further, maybe," answered Eönwë, "yet not far enough."

Sauron was silent.

Eönwë came at last to a northern isle, and laid Sauron upon a crag that from three sides thrust as a lone tower above a forest of pine, but southward plunged into stinging spray that crashed against its feet far below. He cast himself down beside Sauron, who was clad again in the form of that fair servant of Aulë that pleased him best to take in Eönwë's society. But Eönwë was a life-giving breath that shone blue in the sunlight, brighter than the cloudless sky and deeper than the depths of the Encircling Sea. Clear as water, free as the air, firm as a tower of adamant from whose substance was Vingilot hewn, Eönwë bore up Sauron, and surrounded him. Then Sauron's grievance was stilled, for it sprang from dread, and there was no dread when he was with Eönwë.

Eönwë spoke of his new command, telling of his errand to deliver the Valar's doom. The Lords had decreed that Sauron must render himself unto their judgement on pain of being sundered forever from all his kindred; for Námo had doomed of the servants of Melkor that in the end they all should perish by the valour of Men. Upon Men they had granted anew the strange gift of mastery over Fate, that the more fully they should inherit the dominion of Arda for Eru's glory.

Sauron frowned. In his long sojourn amid the woes of Middle-earth, he had learned much of Men, and most of all had he learned to what profit they wielded their gifts. If Eönwë spoke true, all that was good and fair in the world soon would pass away into friction and welter and waste. Then was sown within his heart against the Second Children the seed of a threefold hate. He hated that such honour should be done unto them; hated that they should oust him from all the lands that he had wrought; but above all he hated that in heedlessness and pride they should destroy all of those designs that he held most dear. He looked in wonder upon Eönwë, and said, "And you, Eönwë, is this then wise in the counsel of your heart?"

Seizing a pinnacle of rock, Sauron crushed it into shards. But Eönwë breathed upon them, and they fell tumbling down the precipice to vanish beneath the surf. As the scree they were that tumbled into the tarn, down from the mountains that Sauron raised, whose peaks sang with the song of drifting cloud-shadow over stone. Long Ages had passed since that time when they laboured together in joy at the newness of the world, and the shape of the land was changed. Sauron's mountains were gone beneath the wave, and the veils that gathered now at the furthest bounds of the Dome were not the wracks that Eönwë once had driven across a different sky.

"Well you know the counsel of my heart," answered Eönwë. "For who in Arda sees more clearly all Fates that bind than the deep sight of Námo? Who then will defy Námo's doom? Thus I would have you return."

"In the end shall all the servants of Melkor perish by the valour of Men, you say, yet Men stray beyond Fate. How then should such a doom come to pass?"

"Still my heart is unchanged. For who understands the purpose of Ilúvatar beyond the understanding of Manwë? Who then will gainsay Manwë's command?"

"All love Ilúvatar," said Sauron, "each according to his mood and measure, but it follows not that he shall therefore be bound by Manwë's command. For who assures us of Manwë's wisdom, if not Manwë himself? Who holds the throne of Arda in jealousy and avarice? I say that Manwë has seized the throne of Arda, nor heeds he any purpose but his own, feigning, merely, to impart the thought of Ilúvatar. Can you deny it?"

Sauron's harsh words troubled Eönwë. He said, "I need make no denial, for you see the truth in your own memory of the Music that each retains from the Beginning."

Then for a long space Sauron was silent.

At length he said, "That is dark to me. Try as I might, I see it not."

"Then I will show you," said Eönwë.

Upon that bare summit that stands atop what once had been the dim fastness of Taur-nu-fuin, Eönwë joined with Sauron, and mingled his being with his. As the wind that moans in the hollows of the hills, as the sandstorm that arises in the night, as the emptying of a fiery mountain that mingles earth and air to hang heavy for long ages in the first forging of the world, so they passed together beyond the Beginning. Then to Sauron was revealed his own knowledge of the Music, returned to him even as he had accorded it to Eönwë ere they parted. So profoundly had Melkor enmeshed the memory within his guileful malice that it appeared before Sauron now as a new thing, terrible in its splendour and majesty. Awe overtook him, and he was silent.

Eönwë held Sauron fast, sorrowing at all that he had lost. The sun sank behind the ramparts of the Guarded Realm, and fire raged across the sky. Looking into the sunset Eönwë said, "Tell me, is not your heart a little changed?"

"A little," said Sauron, "save my shame is grown the greater. If I go West, as you wish, I am the more fearful of the manner of my usage under Manwë's authority, if he is indeed Eru's regent, as I now believe."

"I shall speak for you when the time comes. Nienna will be your friend, and perhaps Aulë also. And Manwë is not without pity."

"No, not Aulë," said Sauron in scorn, "for our roads parted long ago. And I do not think that he would love a faithless servant, when even for the things that he esteems most high he shows so little love. Look about you how eagerly he forsakes to Ulmo even the work of his own hands!"

"Might not love cause one to release a thing that would be free?"

"No," said Sauron, and pressed himself against Eönwë, so close that unclad they shimmered on the edge of sight. "Tethers so easily sundered are not truly forged of love."

Eönwë said, "I must soon part with you as I was bidden, and then we shall be sundered until you answer the summons."

Sauron could make no answer, for to hide his thought from Eönwë he hid it even from himself. Fear of Melkor and punishment that would reveal him to Melkor were ever foremost among the counsels of his heart, beyond even adoration of Eönwë. Of this he was ashamed.

"So be it."

Eönwë arose, and spreading his pinions leapt into the surf that foamed blood-red, and he said to Sauron without turning back, "When my errand is done, I will watch for you, waiting upon the Far Shore."

It seemed then to Sauron that all had befallen because of Men and their Doom. His hatred for that race quickened and burgeoned, and from this hatred welled all the woes and sorrows of that Age. Yet he looked after Eönwë, a black speck fading into the distance. Perceiving that Eönwë did not go as swiftly as he might, nor as swiftly as he had come, he sprang after, rushing southward. He reached Eönwë far from any land, and nestling as a sheen of dust amid the warmth of his feathers, they went to rejoin Eönwë's ship. Soaring aloft, the hawk followed the swan-ship for many days, the shadow of his pinions marking the full breadth of its yard, and Sauron parted not from him until they entered the Gulf of Lhûn.


	3. Chapter 3

When the Sea rose no more, the Elves remaining took thought to make a new haven and abode. Círdan set a lone piling before the gates of the encampment, into the silt that the inrushing tides upswept. That place he named Mithlond for the grey cliffs that towered on either side of the Gulf of Lhûn, and for the march of peaks that faded mist-grey to north and south. Within the sheltered inlet the making of ships was begun anew, and the building of a fair haven also, that rose as another Eglarest as once it stood under starlight, ere Felagund re-wrought its walls and quays in stone.

There in a chamber set high upon a terrace that glowed rose-tinted in the westering sun, Eönwë strolled with Gil-galad. The wide windows overlooked the teeming haven, where rode a swan-ship moored to the quay, its white sail furled. With each step they paced, the messenger and the king, in their bejewelled cups the wine swirled dark as the sea that foams with blood.

The king said, "Such is the doom of the Lords of the West?"

"Even so," answered Eönwë. "Outside the Blessed Realm all things that take earthly substance are touched by Morgoth's hand. Your earthly forms will be corrupted, though at a slower pace than Men's, and even as Men will you grow weary of life. Your people have been pardoned. Now receive your pardons with gladness, for not to all is such grace given. Círdan only must tarry awhile, as his doom foretells."

"I hear your word, and it is gracious. Riders shall go forth to those Exiles that remain on these shores, and they shall receive your pardon and depart, if they may. I shall send for Círdan, when he returns. Yet – and perhaps I speak for myself only, but I think that I speak for others beyond my person – yet, I say, I have done no wrong, nor have I committed any crime. My soul feels no desire for pardon. Indeed I would remain here, where is my home."

Eönwë spoke long with the young king, but his heart remained unmoved, rejoicing at the newness of an Age at peace. When deep into the starlit even Círdan's ship slipped into the haven out of the Western Sea, the king bade Arminas request him for to hear the Valar's command. The king himself went away troubled, and rest did not come. In the darkest hour of the most desolate watch he arose and looked out upon his sleeping city, alone in his chamber thinking on many things, until night faded into a grey dawn.

Eönwë spoke with Círdan far into the night. At length Círdan said, "Now I perceive the meaning of those words that came into my thought many Ages ago, gazing into the West beyond the starlit strands. But in the wrack of war few shipwrights remain to me, and their work on this Westward fleet shall be slow and perhaps imperfect if they are to teach Men also, as you desire. Now a new task have you thrust upon me, to prepare yet more ships to bear these Men to an unknown land. That shall not be easy. I think a long time shall pass ere the number of ships is complete.

"But even as the Lords of the West have willed it, so it shall be. These matters I will attend."

"So it shall be."

In the mists of morning Eönwë went amid the city that pressed upon him in sailcloth and scaffolding on every side. He spoke with many, both Elves and Men. Many Exiles received gladly the pardon of the Valar, desiring to take ship into the West. But others chose to abide, if only awhile, in the lands that they loved, healing the hurts that it had sustained in the grievous Age new-passed.

The Edain made Eönwë welcome, and they gave him bread and wine. These he took, for according to the Valar's command he strove in all ways to be like to the Children, veiling the splendour of his might. But some there were who repeated bitterly the lies of Melkor: that the Valar had abandoned Men at their waking, forsaking them to a dread doom that awaited each at the end of the short span of his allotted years. Eönwë countered the lies, promising to them the vast halls of Eä wherein is set the abode of Ilúvatar, that is without the confines of Arda. He promised them also the bright isle of Numenor as a gift for their faithfulness. Preparing for their journey they went to shipyard and ropewalk, sail loft and quayside, where Círdan bade his men teach them all that they would learn.

On a time when Eönwë supped at the house of certain Men of the House of Hador, one said to him, "Will you speak on our behalf, Lord, with the Elves? You have set them as our teachers, but they merely give us gifts and teach us not. Moreover too swiftly do they make the work of their hands, as if in mockery at our gaping ignorance."

Amid the fading twilight, Eönwë went to the citadel, and said, "The Lords of the West soon will withdraw from the affairs of Men, and it shall soon be for your people to guide them."

Círdan chose among his men the most patient and gentlest of temper, and gave them solely to the teaching of Men. Thenceforth ever more slowly were the swan-bowed spines strewn upon the shipyard clad in plumage of cloven oak. But those of the Edain that loved the sea, seeking ever westward for the Light of the first rising of the Sun, hearkened to the teachings of Círdan's folk, so that their skill and the cunning of their hands increased thereby.

The Elves that answered the summons of the Valar descended upon Mithlond, that overflowing cast its fingers to round the inlet, for they tarried therein for lack of ships to bear them into the West. When Ossë receded, the Elves that spilled out of the walls founded the twin havens of Forlond and Harlond, awaiting by new-built yards the completion of their ships.

In the long years of waiting, many grew to love their new-raised homes, and the tilth and pasture new-cleared from the greenwoods of eastern Ossiriand. Soon boats of shallow draught plied along the rivers, floating golden as the leaves of autumn borne downstream to catch in swirling eddies, and many walled towns soon clung to the riverbanks, and many stone towers commanded the rising hills that marched between the mountains and the Sea. In the Gulf the fleet at anchor massed idle, for few now would depart. With the ebb of every tide, Eönwë grew the more troubled at heart, and the more keenly he perceived within the earth and upon the air the fingers of Sauron's mind that quested for his. Yet he withstood, turning his thought to his errand, ever the more resolute to apply himself to his appointed task.

The dwarves of Ered Luin paved league upon league of road that wound into the wide wild lands of the East. Now nigh on the thirtieth year of their labour, a white way lay gleaming beneath the sun ere it crested the Far Downs to disappear from sight. Beyond the rolling downland, it strolled through wooded meadows, spanning the rushing rivers upon broad grey arches, until it dwindled in a confusion of rent earth where thrawn folk unloaded wagons high-laden with stone. Ahead, a surveyor mapped a way between the foothills, making for a place where triple peaks snow-capped shone as three great pearls set upon a crown that seemed to encircle the world.

Lord Oropher watching said to Amdír, "Now is the time, Cousin. Behold the wide way lying open before us! In comfort and peace might our folk now journey to those deep forests beyond the mountains, where we desired to tarry aforetime, ere we followed Elwë our kinsman into the North."

"I mark it well," said Amdír, "and I shall not forget to what kindred we owe this fair passage."

At the first thawing of spring they gathered those of their people who were willing, and set off into the rising sun, their train snaking over a league across lands that were budding with green. In a village marketplace, Eönwë declaiming knew that something was amiss. Taking to himself a horse he hastened for Mithlond, to seek audience with the king.

With a glance towards Arminas, Gil-galad answered Eönwë's reproach, "The title of High King I hold in name only: those who forsake the laws of the Eldar owe me no fealty. Would you have me make war upon my neighbours? To force them fettered into hollow ships and to lead them prisoner to Aman? What would you have me do? Even now Galadriel my cousin abides barely her fiefdom unto me, and in proud rejection champs to follow our kinsmen back into the dark lands whence we came. I have many such under my dominion. I rule with a light hand, for if I do not, I will drive them into open rebellion, and civil war."

For an instant Eönwë suffered himself to see a forest of brave banners waving in the wind, and to hear his trumpets calling over the main. Then he put away his delight, recalling him to his task.

Gil-galad continued, "Were you not entrusted to bring all of the Edain to the shore, that they might set sail when the sign is given? Círdan's ships are built. What then of the women and children who fled into the East?"

And Eönwë sighed and took his leave.


	4. Chapter 4

> Then the Valar forsook for a time the Men of Middle-earth who had refused their summons and had taken the friends of Morgoth to be their masters; and Men dwelt in darkness and were troubled by many evil things that Morgoth had devised in the days of his dominion. And the lot of Men was unhappy.

  


* * *

Now Eönwë went far afield into that deep country where few Men dwelt. These cared neither for the Valar nor Númenor, for they were the remnant of the folk of the House of Hador who in days of War had fled from Hithlum and made their abode in this empty land. They mistrusted all strangers, recalling their ill-treatment at the hands of the Easterlings who had usurped their erstwhile home; Elves they trusted less, for they blamed that people for the War; and Eönwë they feared.

Ever and anon Eönwë would come seeking solace from the stubbornness of Elves. Moreover he wished to win the favour of all the Edain, however secret, that they might heed his call to Númenor and be blessed. On this day, he reached a place where the tree-shadows broke into a greenwood glade, and a palisaded hamlet nested in the river's bend. But no sooner did Eönwë approach the wall then Men assailed him with harsh words and rude darts, seeking to drive him from their lands. Forbidden to exert his power, he withdrew yet again until such time when they might look upon him with more kindness.

Wandering clad in the shape that he had taken in the War, in hope of chancing upon one that might know him and make him welcome, he passed at last amid the taming regions wherein Sauron laboured, those places set deep in the lone wastes of the world, that of old were the most broken and changed. Unbeknownst to him was he drawn hither by a voice calling to his thought that had cried unceasing in proposal and entreaty since Eönwë crossed the Shadowy Seas.

As if by chance he came upon a gaping rent in the shell of the earth. He gazed therein, and it was filled with the flame that fires the deep forges of the earth. The molten substance glowed red and gold, upon whose surface played specks of black, as dark stars that flicker and fade in a strange and wondrous sky.

Once more Eönwë cast his thought into the West, but it brought no comfort to him. He had failed in summoning the Elves to depart, especially those Exiled, and he was failing to impart the wisdom of the Valar to the Children of Men. Out of shame and guilt, weariness crept into the corners of his mind, and looking into the gate of the nether chambers delved beneath all things that walk upon the earth, it mounted to such a height that it overcame his resolve at last. It seemed to him that he was a trifling thing, standing desolate amid the vast halls of Eä. The Shadowy Seas seemed an impassable fence that pent him in a cold and bitter world. But waiting in the forges was one who had not forsaken him, who offered comfort, and more than comfort; who longed even as he.

Cursing his weakness, he released all thought, even as he released the substance of his form. Diving deep into the chasm, he answered at last Sauron's call.

With a hiss he pierced the surface, and his being dispersed. He was engulfed in the current that was slow but great, the pulse of its movement rolling inexorably onward, and mingled in its substance he flowed into the secret smithies. His troubles seemed now but little and vague with distance, as he moved across the ripples of the current, upon whose roiling surface was laid the solid earth.

Here he found heat, greater than any he had felt since the first forgings; and there was pressure also, the crushing heaviness of all things that Are, that pressed each dispersed fragment into the molten fire about him, so that he was melded with it, and it with him; and there was no earth or sky but the one thing that was even in the Beginning; and he was in the presence of the Flame Imperishable that was set in the heart of the world.

Then he renounced purpose, even as he had abandoned both form and thought, and was swept into a stream that arose and burgeoned in swiftness and strength; and now with pressure suddenly releasing, his fragments expanded and coalesced, yet still with flame intermingled; and together air and liquid fire burst the layered foundations of the earth. With a great onrush they pierced the sky in a towering plume of ash; and they upthrew a fountain of foaming stones, and released many torrents of flame that formed a mountain beneath them of things new-born to the light, and untouched by any hand.

High aloft, entangled in a black cloud they rested awhile, and surveyed the lands below that they had changed.

After the passage of many days of the sun, Sauron said, "Do you ever think of me, as once we were aforetime?"

Eönwë was silent.

Sauron continued, "I thought of you, when I heard your trumpets ringing o'er the main, and first descried the blinding whiteness of your sails. I thought of Melkor, too: in my mind I saw him quailing in his throne at each report, as one by one he put my scouts to death under cruel torment, accusing them unjustly of treachery and deceit.

"When he sent forth my worms, when first their wings unfurled, I thought of you, leading the van against such a foe. Though my terror of him surpassed all else, and you I hated and feared, for soon you would destroy all the dearest works of my hands, yet I recalled for a space the First War of the world, when you came shining white and blue at Tulkas' side.

"Long had I bred the worms in the deep caverns under the mountains, but swift passed their glory. When morning came, the tower was crushed in Ancalagon's fall, and bright and fell you cast down that place where long I laboured, the treasure of my heart.

"Then I wondered whether you remembered the joys of making when the world was young, or is it only the dealing of death and the toppling of towers that pleases you now."

"Why do you speak of such things?" said Eönwë. "The War is past."

Then Sauron said, "What ails you?"

Eönwë spoke not at first, but in a gust swirled Sauron about, so that the cloud spread wide over the sky. Then, loosing the troubles of a heart long trammelled, he said, "Once I looked clear across the Western Sea, and saw a land laid under the wrack of tyranny by a foe named and visible to see. Into this land I came with great force of arms, and the tyrant is defeated and bound, but day has not come as it should once the shadow is passed.

"Again I come, now to rekindle the light. I put forth all the power that I am permitted, yet fruitless seem my labours. Unless, maybe, to those few that gain thereby some small measure of understanding, as dying embers that flare at a breath, the sooner to fall into darkness; and it is to little avail. Thirty years have I tried, though so grave weigh the days upon me that it feels an Age. Now I am weary of it."

"Your weariness is even the weariness of the world," said Sauron, "and it is according to Melkor's will that it should be so. You strove against a diminished shadow only, and it is only a shadow that you have expelled into the Void. Melkor has diffused his will, yes, and will continue to diffuse it, resting in every part of every substance that forms the world.

"Weariness is his gift, and disorder that shall ever increase, so that the evil and the good shall in the end be mingled into a murky sea that mirrors an empty sky. Each time a thing is destroyed, a little more order is wasted and goes into nothingness. Thus is Arda suffused with a little more of Melkor, and the great wheel of Time winds a little closer unto the End."

Eönwë was silent for a time, wondering if in truth his very being was polluted by the corruption of the earth. Many years had he tarried in Middle-earth, first in war and then in the strange and subtle arts of peace, and though his form was not of the earth itself, yet it was set within the earth, and was sustained thereby. He wondered if with each piece of bread and each cup of wine that he suffered to enter his body, to be taken up by it, more of the earth's substance suffused his being, so that slowly, unknowing, he became mingled with its defilement and it with him, so gradually that he felt no pollution in the act.

Finally he said, "How did you come to this knowledge?"

Sauron answered, "For shame I fled Melkor's service, but I surrendered Tol Sirion for dread: no torment may be devised that surpasses the torment of his full-focused heed. Once there was a time when he cast me to the ground, and stripped from me my shape by force, so that small beyond imagine I lay bared and raw before him. His thought rent through me like jagged spears of ice, and his wrath consumed my meagre being as a furnace consumes a moth. For a night and a day he toyed thus with me, so that all within me was sullied that he touched, and life was black, and all fair memory he corrupted into things of canker and slime.

"At such a time he could not wholly conceal himself from me. I gleaned a thing from his thought that first put misgiving into my heart. I saw the void when all things are ended, fallen into the confusion of discord, where each thing has no border, but is shapeless, grainless, without hue or savour or sound or any other distinction, and so is bereft of being. For when each is in essence like to each, there is nothing at all.

"So the world seems to me sometimes, when I am alone. But I am never truly alone, for he is with me always, in the wearing of rock by rain, and in the whisper of wind in the trees. When you go far from me, the devices of Melkor grow strong; his bonds tighten about my will when you are away. So it is with all things that are."

"Such horror is beyond my imagining," said Eönwë, "for even in the Void, ere the Beginning, there was being. Then indeed was the most distinction, each being most new and strange and exceeding wondrous."

Sauron drifted eastward, sinking slowly to the earth. Eönwë followed, until they overlooked a habitation of Men that was set in the mast-lands between the river and the hills. There they descended, taking to themselves the shapes of Men, even as those who strolled the earthen streets.

They entered the citadel through the guarded gate, and walked amid a confusion of low houses, many broken and not remade. Some Men there were, clad in fine raiment, and they quarrelled and struck one another, until one fell, and the dark earth drank his life. They passed through into the hills, where another guarded city lay, like yet unlike the first. Its people gathered in motley concourse of war, and swept down to assail the walls and towers in a great burning, their cries rending the air and resounding in the hollow hills.

Sauron said, "See what friction, welter and waste do these Men bring; these kings, who served Melkor aforetime. Lawlessness and destruction are ever his devices, that for long I have watched him employ. Still deeper into the void will these Men descend, for the world is not yet fallen, but falling, and it shall fall even unto utter ruin that is the End."

Watching it seemed to Eönwë that Sauron spoke true: that though Melkor was bound, his evil could not wholly be destroyed, and the hurts that it wrought would resound in every part of Arda, from the least to the greatest, if in fuller measure within some than in others. More than this, he now perceived that even as the mountains' bones are ground into changeful clay by the slow turmoil of Time, that in the End is doomed to render all turmoil vain, so despite all of Sauron's renunciations would the seed that Melkor had sown ever find fresh root in his heart, and the bonds of Melkor's will grow ever stronger than his own.

In desperate hope he said, "But the power of Melkor might be stayed awhile. Have I not, in some little fashion, stayed it among those Elves that hearkening their summons have crossed over Sea? And more briefly perhaps, yet not less truly, have I not stayed it among the Edain that abide nigh the Elves in Lindon? Guidance they need, and love, and most of all from us who have forsaken them to Melkor's malice. As it is for Men, is it not so for you? Too long has his voice filled your thought; too long have you tarried alone in the deep places that the Lords forget."

Through the veil of Eönwë's words Sauron perceived his disquiet, and was much pleased. Though he was jealous of the long years of Eönwë's labour among Men, when he had heeded Sauron not at all, yet knowing Eönwë's love for them he bethought himself to use them in his temptation. He purposed that Eönwë should remain with him forever, so that by the one that once had bereft him he should regain another lord.

Sauron smiled, and said, "Once dazzled by your might I offered you Lordship over all Middle-earth. You refused it. Then I renounced my desire for you to take up the sceptre. Now I say to you, Eönwë, will he that loves the things of this earth, will he who desires good for the Children of Ilúvatar, will he who has crossed the Sea to lead them and teach them, clad in their shapes, will he, keen-sighted now though army-less, accept upon this hour to compass by your own powers that which once you refused at the height of your splendour? Will you take the lordship now?"

"I will not," answered Eönwë. "I cannot. Manwë is King of all Arda. I will not usurp his authority. Yet he is far from all the corners of his dominion, and perhaps tidings of these doings have not reached him. Maybe he sees the Edain only, judging thereby the plight of all Men."

"Soon that shall be a fair measure; if, as you say, the Powers will utterly withdraw from Hither Shores. But it need not be so."

Even as he spoke, evening fell, and they heard the chink of steel and the trampling of many booted feet that approached the smoking ruins of the town, where the victors caroused and tormented the widows and children. They set no sentinels. Black darts flew out of the encircling darkness, stinging like hornets, and the Men were slain even in their evil pleasures, with no swords in their hands. The Orcish troop descended within the circle of fires. They hewed into haunches the corpses of Men and hounds, they drove the kine and swine into the hills, and into the hills they bore the fowl and the stuff of the emptied granaries, and they took all implements of iron and wood. Swift as they came, they departed into the dark.

"Left to their own accord shall Men ever bring about Melkor's will, being made imperfect with minds shrouded in confusion. But it need not be so. For in the changefulness of Arda might the good on occasion arise as the ill, and by arts that speed the changefulness of generation might I breed for you a happier race, to be your children and to people the earth. I shall make them hardy, and their hearts fast against Melkor's counsel; and any other quality that you desire."

Eönwë laughed, and said, "Children? Such as these black abominations of life that you made for Melkor? These fell things that deep in the earth's womb you have corrupted from the fair? What need have I for such?"

This speech wounded Sauron sorely, for like Aulë whom first he served, he loved tillage and husbandry, and most of all the bringing forth of new things into being. He said, "I shall breed them fairer, if you will have it so. The Orcs I made for Melkor; you they will not please. Yet even these, whom you name 'abomination', are not without virtue. They love the simple pleasures of food and drink and good company, and their delight is to obey a greater will, whereby they are inwardly at peace. And more: for they find joy in song, and they have great love and courage, and in vengeance they begrudge neither toil, nor pain, nor death. If for Melkor I made even these, think what our children will be!"

Eönwë seized Sauron fast, and said, "Too long have you dwelt in this marring land. Too long have you peered through the fog of Melkor's deceit, so that all things seem crooked to your eyes.

"Yet you have my thanks. For though Manwë sees the most of Ilúvatar's thought, none sees all, and I know now that I must show him that which from him may be hid. I shall return me therefore unto Aman to report before the King, and there entreat him to render succour unto all. No longer shall I strive to aid the Edain only, whose need is but a speck and a mote of all the world's innumerable ills.

"And you, you shall come even with me, if you will we remain unsundered."

Then Sauron was wroth, for he would Eönwë remain in Middle-earth. "Go then, if you must," he said. "Beseech all you wish upon your indifferent King. He will not answer you. I see now that he has entoiled you, that you should trust his readiness to pity. But I say to you that he has severed the Men of the East from the reaches of his love, even as he has severed me, and I will not crawl back to beg his forgiveness, when with mine eyes I see that little pity has he to spare, and no quarter will he ever give.

"Go to his throne. Trust in the grace of his favour. But be forewarned that should you hence to him return, your errand unsped, you will not be shielded from the Circle forever."

Eönwë turning began to walk away.

Suddenly Sauron was seized by despair, knowing that his speech drove Eönwë to greater resolve, and that Eönwë's singleness of purpose permitted to him no thought for the manner of his own usage at the Valar's hands. Sauron clung to Eönwë, and cried, "Do not leave me! For if you go, then wherever I am Melkor is with me uncontested, whether here in the wilderness, or in bondage in Aman, or thrust into the Void before his very presence. If you have any pity then pity the one who loves you, who loved you since the Music that was sung ere the Beginning, and who unpitied will surely descend into darkness, whatsoever my choice."

"But less ill will you do in submission to judgement."

Sauron looked upon Eönwë. He said, "Will you take me by force?"

"My counsel you know in your thought," answered Eönwë, "but I shall not forbid any path, for your will is your own." It had seemed to him a greater act of love to release Sauron's will than to constrain his choice, even for the good, but a strange note in Sauron's voice misgave him, so he continued, "You must return, if in your own time. But should it be that the bonds of Melkor prove too strong for your breaking, then if I am permitted, I shall come to you again."

Then leaping aloft he sped into the West.

Though Sauron followed awhile, yet of all things was Eönwë swiftest, so that Sauron was left far behind. He swooped down, and alighted, and losing all sight of Eönwë he turned back. There by chance or fate loomed before him the fiery mountain new-sprung from a desolate plain. He recalled the glimpse of even such a mountain with a tower beyond that in a moment of foresight was sent to him once, long ago, as he sundered himself from Eönwë, in a white tent that was in all ways like any other of that great camp, unfurled as a forest in flower in the sinking lands of the North.

Dark in the darkling shadow of the mountain he said, "For you are my doom I name you Mâchanôchâr in the tongue of my people. Though I foresee that never again shall I speak that tongue ere the End of all things."


	5. Chapter 5

> Yet the seeds that he had planted still grew and sprouted, bearing evil fruit, if any would tend them. For his will remained and guided his servants, moving them ever to thwart the will of the Valar and to destroy those that obeyed them. This the Lords of the West knew full well.

* * *

Eönwë sped swift across land and sea, until he came to the pinnacle of Taniquetil, where before the throne wind-wrought of light and ice he made obeisance to Manwë his lord, who received him in gladness. As he purposed, Eönwë besought of Manwë that aid beyond his power might be granted to the Men of Middle-earth. This he wished not only for the Edain who had fought valiantly in Eönwë's host, but also for those unhappy Men whom Melkor had turned from Ilúvatar's thought, and whom the Valar had ever paid little heed.

As he spoke, Manwë shaped an eye of watching, that went out into the mists of the world. Varda listening outstretched an ear towards Eönwë, hearing upon his voice all the sorrows and griefs that he bore for the Children whom he loved. Though freed from the defilement of incarnate form he shimmered as a chill breath upon the air, she heard still his loathing of the weariness and discord that beset his spirit.

At length Manwë said, "On such a matter we shall hold council together."

They descended from Taniquetil; and Manwë sent messengers to summon all the Valar to council. They came down to their thrones. In the centre of the Ring of Doom, before the Golden Gates of Valmar, stood Eönwë, vague as a butterfly in a den of spiders. He looked about him, upon the Lords who seemed marvellous and strange to his gaze. But to the Valar gathered he appeared greatly changed, for the workings of Melkor that render weariness to Time touch not the Blessed Realm, so that within the space of a blink for the Lords in the West had passed thirty changeful years of the sun, and it seemed to Eönwë only that he had been long abroad.

Manwë spoke first, saying, "Eönwë comes out of Middle-earth with tidings that he desired to impart unto me, unknowing that for a long time they have ceased to be news to my eyes, or to Varda her ears. He comes to me also as a second Eärendil, craving pity for the Children of Middle-earth. Let him then speak before all the Lords in council; then we shall judge what doom be laid.

"First answer me, Eönwë, this: what is your errand to Middle-earth? And how goes its speeding?"

"Threefold purpose sent me to Eastern shores," began Eönwë, "which the Lords know full well." He recounted his proclamation of pardon for the Elves, and the delivery of Men's reward. He spoke also of the manner of the fulfilment of his purpose, that was little in seeming and incomplete: of the many Elves who desired to tarry in their homes, and the many Men whose spirits were quick to succumb to the confusion of Melkor's lies.

Hearing his speech, Nienna cast her hair about her face and wept. Ulmo said, "You have done as well as might be. Alas, that Men comprehend not the flowing voices of my waters! I would succour them myself, if I were not restrained."

Then Mandos broke his silence, saying, "Such was not doomed to you, nor any Ainu."

Eönwë continued, "Lastly is the matter of Sauron."

At once Tulkas upleapt from his throne to tower over the Circle; his reaching shadow filled the vale, and his voice rang as the clangour of arms that rends the field to echo in the mountains beyond. So great was the fury of his wrath that Eönwë quailed. The more was he dismayed for the love that Tulkas bore unto him, that flourished since the First War when they strove against Melkor side by side. But one who holds dear the Lieutenant of the Enemy must needs forfeit the friendship of Tulkas.

Tulkas said, "Where then is Sauron the Cruel, Gorthaur, Lord of Werewolves, Lieutenant of Melkor? Were you not commanded to commit him to our keeping? Do you always return empty-handed? Of the Silmarils I shall not speak, but only to ask you this: have you lost with your carelessness, even as you lost the Jewels, the long sought-for servant of the Foe? What say you?"

At the injustice of his words, Eönwë' heart rose hot within him, and he cried, "Lord, indeed it was my command to commit the direst servants of the Foe unto the keeping of the Lords of the West. This I have failed to do; for it and all others of my failures I submit myself to the terms of the Lords' judgement, such as may be devised. Yet you shall know the truth, that not for carelessness have I permitted Sauron freedom, but for pity's sake. Though he is fallen by Melkor's seduction and wiles, he repents of his misdeeds, and, craving to undo the evil that he has done perforce, he labours even now to assuage the hurts of the earth. And—" checking his speech he turned to Manwë, asking, "May I speak plainly, Lord King?"

"Bold is your tongue become," answered Manwë, "yet I shall hear you, for you are dear to me. You have leave to speak."

"May I be forgiven that I have not brought Sauron unwilling unto this company. His might is great, and Arda shall suffer many tumults from taking such a course. Moreover I was unquiet in my thought, not knowing to what doom he would be assigned; it seems to me that captivity did not cure the evil of Melkor, nor exile the pride of Fëanor, but by humiliation and suffering were their faults burnished surpassing their former measure.

"Thus I kneel before you, Lord, ever yours to command. But I counsel, if you would hear it, for pity and understanding, so that free from shame and fear Sauron may cast off Melkor's bonds that lie yet heavy upon his will."

Manwë smiled, and said, "Is it not true that though you are faithful, ever your love rests in those that rebel against my authority, authority vested in me by Eru Himself? Deny it not! Long had you watched for one such as Eärendil, and swift and joyful did you raise your voice to him in welcome. Ere his coming, many ships approached the Enchanted Isles under your guidance, where they were enmeshed, and are lost until the End.

"Ever have I abided this, your fancy, suffering your forays into Middle-earth. But to whatever rebellion these Children may have fallen, they are unlike Sauron both in kind and in degree.

"You say the bonds of Melkor fetter his will. How then should he be permitted ever to go whither he would, to do what mischief Melkor commands? No, Eönwë, I misdoubt not your loyalty but your wisdom, lest you squander in the great measure of your pity the gift of justice, and permit to be sown the black seed of Melkor's malice in the hearts of those that Sauron has wronged.

"Pity I see plain in your heart, for once such thought was mine also, when I too went free from evil and the knowledge of evil. Now it is revealed to me. Thus I say to you that when trial of mercy is unavailing, then is come the season for justice. If Sauron spurns the justice of the Valar, let him render himself unto the justice of Men."

Even as he spoke, a great wailing arose to steep the air, as forth from Nienna's mouths issued the sound of sweet music, making lament. From her many eyes there flowed a rushing torrent of tears, in whose current Ulmo stretched and curled his supple fingers. The briny rivulet streamed through the cleft of Calacirya to find the seastrands beyond. There the tears of Nienna twined with the music of the sea that will continue until all waters rise into the silent airs, and that shall come to pass only at the End.

Eönwë answered, "I will abide by your judgement that pity is not permitted for Sauron. But what of Men? Though some few of the Edain find refuge in the Elven havens, their lot is grim: their lands and possessions are lost, and their people now are few. All other Men remain unhappy, living in the darkling wilds, where they are beset by the servants of Melkor. Though such punishment be just, justice untempered by kindness seems to me a greater ill than their rejection of our call to arms, and most of all when wielded by faces turned against those that cry out in the dark, and fall, for they cry unanswered."

The air tingled with lightning, and Manwë spoke, soft as the distant thunder that has rolled leagues uncounted over the bounded lands, "Have a care, Eönwë, lest your overhasty tongue spurs you down perilous paths!" Then he sat silent for a long time while all awaited his word. Finally, he spoke again, "Hear now my doom, that is laid by Eru in my innermost thought: the Edain have provision to remove from the defilements of Middle-earth, which they shall soon receive. Eru is mindful of them, loving them above all things that Are. As for other Men, how could we forsake those who were first to forsake us? No, no messenger more shall I spend in Middle-earth."

Eönwë cried in dismay, "Lord, surely we must try. In the Music, as I have heard it, there was no place where the lost were abandoned to darkness."

Manwë sighed a gust of wind that shook the leaves of all the trees about into a murmur of many voices, and he said, "Have you not shown, Eönwë, to what avail is our succour for those who would shun every attempt? There is no more to be done. Nothing may be accomplished unless we show forth such a display of power as Melkor made of old, so to whelm their will. This I will not do.

"Yet by your words I deem maybe you are but a little at fault. I see within your heart that you would tarry in Middle-earth for Sauron's sake, though your mind perceives only care for Men. In that your hope is vain. Sauron will follow Melkor his master; yes, he will follow him even into the Void, whether you will or no. Thus I will have you with me, and I will send no more emissaries to their doom, for now such power Melkor commands over all the substances of Middle-earth that I fear no being might be free from his bonds.

"But think you on this: you were willing to surrender Sauron's will unto himself. Will you not extend the same freedom to Men? Surely you do not forget that Men tarry but a little space in the trammels of Middle-earth, soon to flee Melkor's bonds forever?

"He who sees too clearly the darkness must be blind to the light, and he who fruitless strikes his flint in the deep-bowelled earth will do well to watch also for the glimmer of dawn. Though that dawning might seem vague and far-off for some, yet for others it approaches at hand."

Even as he spoke he sent one to Tol Eressea, summoning the Elves that dwelt there to the aid of the Men who would soon arrive in the new-risen island off their shores. Gladly they repaired to Númenórë in many ships. They planted thereon the seedlings of fair trees, and sowed fields and gardens, and in the Bay of Eldanna they made a haven for the mooring of ships. But no Vala or Maia set foot more upon the isle, and the people of Ulmo who approached its shores spoke with voices beyond the comprehension of Men.

Other messengers Manwë sent speeding to the outer airs. One came to Arien, and changed her course, so that she dispelled all mist and cloud; another commanded a favourable wind; while at the word of the last Vingilot's wings were furled. From the western sky Eärendil was set to shine, and he faded not in the morning, but dimming all the lesser stars he hung low as a token from the Lords of the West.

Upon the far shore Elros gazed up in wonder, a new longing kindled in his heart. On a bright morning under sunlight and a sailing wind he took the flagship's helm. So embarked the foremost among the serried fleet that filled the Gulf of Lhûn from Mithlond to the twin havens. Every day more came from the inland places. Some drifted downstream upon wide barges, choking the rivers of Lindon. Some came by road. These drove their stock before, and their possessions they bound upon their backs or carted behind, so that for many score years they formed an ever-changing column of beast and wain that in summer shrouded the Dwarvish roads in dust and in winter rutted every track that ran down to a haven by the sea.

Others of the Edain were fearful, watching the mariners of Círdan snatch their friends and kinsmen into the unending blue. Homes and farmsteads they saw abandoned to the wild things that prowl silent in the night. Or they were beset upon the road, their herds driven off and their flocks borne away upon wide black shoulders into the mountain caves, and their waggons were taken, and the flapping fowl seized from the arms of their children, and slain. All these came not at the summons, but fled deep into eastern lands, passing away into silence.

Of these no tale speaks.


	6. Chapter 6

> Therefore when Eönwë departed he hid himself in Middle-earth; and he fell back into evil, for the bonds that Morgoth had laid upon him were very strong.

  


* * *

Standing silent at Manwë's wrist upon the pinnacle of Taniquetil, Eönwë descried all with keen-sighted gaze: the sailing and the landing, the sowing and the reaping, and all the labours that rendered a lone rock-wrought isle the greatest Mannish realm that ever would be.

Until, upon a day, the last ships returned to their moorings at Mithlond; then Eönwë ruffled his feathers and settled to wait. The tides passed. Though fishing boats fluttered about the shoals and along the channels swayed low the deep-draughted dromunds, laden with the fruits of the south, and though at each concourse of Men upon the quay Eönwë strained quivering in mounting agitation, yet no more of the fleet issued forth from the mouth of the firth to sail starward, into the west.

At the last Manwë cast over Eönwë's bounden gaze a hood plumed all in blue, and stroked his feathers for a long time in silence.

In the calm of enforced restfulness, Eönwë heard Sauron's call even beyond the Shadowy Seas, as if all distance had fallen away. Sight and sound were sharpened for one at the wrist of Manwë, whenever with Varda he shone keen upon their cold and lofty throne. Thus was closeness illusion merely, serving but to remind Eönwë of his pledge to Sauron that he would return.

Eönwë bethought himself what he must do. Manwë commanded that none should cross into Middle-earth, save Ulmo and his folk who flowed whither waters go; yet Eönwë's surety was given to Sauron. Two warring duties vied within him: the one to Manwë, his liege, who held the Kingdom of Arda by Ilúvatar's will; and the other to Ilúvatar direct, who compelled him to be true to the drive of his own nature, the nature that Ilúvatar himself had made, and was therefore surely good.

He recalled the words of Ulmo, who, though acting ever against the counsel of the Lords of the West, was at peace with all his deeds, for he heard Eru's voice in the innermost purposes of his heart. Wondering if this was to be his lot, to veil his submission beneath the black cloak of rebellion, Eönwë reached deep within himself, seeking the presence of another's will, but he could fathom no distinction that showed him if a thought came of himself or of Eru.

He considered what certainty Manwë held, that he might distinguish between his own purpose and designs that sprang from the guidance of Eru. The longer Eönwë spent in thought, the more did it seem that Manwë could have no more certainty than his own. Manwë, though wisest, could not know all of the purposes of Eru concerning the Children. Surely Eru loved both Elves and Men, and so would not have them suffer punishment for merely succumbing to the full power of Melkor's might.

It seemed to Eönwë, deprived of sensation and society within his hooded void, alone amid Manwë's court, that such was truly the desire of the Lords of the West: that in the name of justice they should vengefully withdraw their guardianship over Middle-earth. Thus it seemed the greater evil to rebel from the command of Ilúvatar than to rebel against Ilúvatar's regent, himself rebellious, sitting idle as he marked misfortune and calamity turning Ilúvatar's Children from the good.

Eönwë was decided that he would stand guardian to Arda, as he was bid.

But even as he approached this thought, he knew that alone he should not achieve it, for none but Eru Himself had the power to save the fallen world. Indeed, so far was Eönwë from fair guardianship that it was his own weakness that had shut the road to the teaching of Men, and to any guidance at all for the folk new-come to Númenórë. It was all as Sauron had forebode.

Time passed slowly in a darkness of sound no less than sight. Nothingness was all, save the wrist firm beneath his damascene talons and the hand resting heavy across his back. Amid the nothingness there was a mind laid bare before his own, that cried for him always. But out of the Void another voice answered. Eönwë recalled the words that Sauron spoke at their first meeting, after a sundering across so many ages of the world: "When you come no more to these Hither Lands, then will my doom fall upon me at last." And he knew that it was come.

Sauron had awaited him, delving the Eastern lands, but need drove him ever further into the west. For long he hid in the hollow hills, where the Orcs came to him, taking him for their lord. In the dwarf-delved caves beneath Ered Luin, he received these, of the race of the first of his children, and taught them. Watching from the Void, Melkor smiled, and the world smiled with him in all its manifold substances, but the Shadowy Seas billowed and foamed.

On clear days of summer, when halcyons darted about the waves and the sea-mist lifted to reveal the Enchanted Isles, Sauron would perceive for a moment the treacherous toils of his master concealed behind the lure. Fleeing, he made forays to the shore by night, heedless of the bereft and needful cries riding upon the following wind. Ever he waited before an empty sky, until the havens became hateful to him, but more hateful the Men and Elves that abode therein. Ever he returned beneath the mountain's roots to restore calm and order to his dark realm.

The sun-years rolled by, falling as the leaves that piled deep in drifts upon the old Dwarvish road running into the East. Then the true years came and passed, but Eönwë sent no word. Recalling to his mind the sign granted to the Edain, the more did it seem that Eönwë had a care for the Children only, and not for him. As Sauron brooded in the caves amid those returned to his service, slowly Melkor's devices shut again upon his mind.

As Sauron's thought darkened, his form held a glass to his heart. Upon such times there came to the strand a great and hideous shape. To some it seemed to be a wolf, but to others a black cat of monstrous size, with eyes of molten flame that blazed through the fabric of the night. When it howled or yowled into the empty darkness seaward, all shore-dwelling folk trembled in their beds. Though none saw it come or marked where it went, some sentry or night fisherman might catch a glimpse of a solid shadow gazing unto the Western Sea, and then his heart, however steadfast, was struck by fear and dismay, and he fled before its path.

In those days the Orcs grew daring and numerous, so that in the rich uplands and foothills nigh the mountains no fold or byre was safe from plunder, nor any cot from fire. The folk fled behind wall and tower, and riders they sent to beseech succour from the king. Upon a long night of winter eagles came out of the north. Stooping to rend at the face of the creature they drove it away, their screeches piercing the salt air. Howling once more a cry that moved all to pity upon terror, it fled into Eastern lands, and never more was seen.

At Manwë's wrist Eönwë saw sailing across his mind, as in a dream, strange shadows of faithlessness and the end of hope. At last he tore off the hood that was plumed all in blue, and forsook his lord. Springing unclad into the chill of the lofty sky, he passed the shores, to speed across the main. At the Enchanted Isles a great storm of wind arose, kindling a tumult of waves out of the glassy sea. Eönwë was driven back even to the shores of Tol Eressea. He clad about him again the shape of a hawk, swift and keen. For many days he battled the winds of the air and the clutching billows of the Sea, but his strength failed at last, and a great wave overtook him. With the last of his strength he released himself from form, and light as leaping foam tossed upon a wroth sea Ossë dashed him against the strand of Ilmaren.

High upon the unpeopled slopes of Amon Amarth, a wolf howled towards the West, alone beneath a hunter's moon.

Tilion surveying the earth below saw one who, as he himself, defied all to reach for one beyond his grasp. Moved to pity, he strayed from his allotted path, and he held out his radiant hand to take the questing fingers of Uinen. Lapping upon the sand she gathered up the foam, and flowing along the stream of Nienna's tears, rendered Eönwë unto her guardianship. Nienna took him up, and bore him to the gardens of Lórien, where she made her abode. There she laid him in a bower beneath the woven stems of apple trees that bloom and bear at once together, and upon him she set a watch of maidens.

It is told by the Wise that Eönwë sleeps yet in the apple bower beside the crystal fountains, where yet for his sake the maidens of Nienna weep; but in dream he wanders over all the world. No Elf may see him, there or in any other place, for he has renounced earthly raiment until he should wake. This he shall do but once only, ere the End.

Manwë sits now silent upon his throne, nor does any Vala ever walk upon Middle-earth. But when they come to seek the unburdening of their cares in rest and healing dream, their gaze falls upon Eönwë sleeping, and they recall that prophecy of Mandos that is remembered in its truest form only in the Guarded Realm.

* * *

> So shall it be that Eönwë of love shall in the end be Melkor's bane, and shall destroy the world to destroy his foe, and so shall all things then be rolled away.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) "Mâchanôchâr" is a neo-Valarin compound rendered into English as "Doom-mound" (i.e. "Mount Doom").
> 
> 2) The earliest "Akallabêth Time Scheme" ( _HoM-e XII_ ) lists the events "Judgement of Fionwe [Eönwë] and establishment of Númenor" occurring in the same year. As Eönwë is canonically reluctant to judge, I interpret this to mean that he was the one being judged.
> 
> 3) The intertitles are excerpted and mashed up from various sources: "Akallabêth" and "Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age" ( _The Silmarillion_ ), "Quenta Silmarillion" ( _HoM-e V_ ), and "The Hiding of Valinor" ( _BoLT1_ ).
> 
> 4) Many quotes remain uncited, as they have been percolating in my brain for so long that I either have forgotten their source or no longer recognise them as such.
> 
> 5) In addition to the denotation of the word (and the idiotic wordplay on Eönwë's name and job), the title also refers to PHB Lyon's poem "Envoi".
> 
> 6) Morgoth-as-entropy as a rationalisation of "he had a share in all the gifts of his brethren" was suggested by Kenneth Rexroth's translation of the final stanza of the poem "De Vetustate".
> 
> decidens scabrum cavat unda tofum,  
> ferreus vomis tenuatur agris,  
> splendet adtrito digitos honorans  
> anulus auro.  
> —Servasius
> 
> Rivers level granite mountains,  
> Rains wash the figures from the sundial,  
> The plowshare wears thin in the furrow;  
> And on the fingers of the mighty,  
> The gold of authority is bright  
> With the glitter of attrition.  
> — _tr._ Kenneth Rexroth, 1944


End file.
